Chapter 23
Saturday was bright, cloudless, and hot. Ingrid spent the day surreptitiously texting both Sailor and her sinner, all the while trying to seem fully present with Miles. The task presented a challenge, to say the least.
Sailor’s texts were all pictures of the rugged Maine coast, the abundant spreads of lobster-themed dishes, and selfies of kissy faces, saying things like, wish you were hereeeeee!!! and miss your smooshy faceeeee!!! Ingrid replied to these instantly with reciprocal gushing.
When her sinner texted her, she had to be more strategic.
She would sneak her phone into the bathroom or wait until Miles went for a swim so she could compose something suitably suggestive but also noncommittal.
It gave her a little rush, making sure she didn’t accidentally send a horny text to Sailor.
She hated herself for it, this addiction to adrenaline brought on by a non-relationship with a man, but she couldn’t stop herself.
She was addicted to Cas Loeffler.
All she wanted, all she dreamed about, was the day when they would finally be together.
When they could look into each other’s eyes and finally say all the things out loud that they’d only been able to write.
Scenario after scenario played through her mind.
She and Cas would dance with each other at Sailor’s wedding.
Come next July, maybe they would be the ones to frolic on the rocky shores of Maine.
She even dared to let herself think ahead to Christmas.
Maybe they’d steal away to Aspen or wherever rich people went, for sleigh rides and snowshoeing.
And then … the day would come when he would take her by the hand and announce to his family that he had fallen in love with her.
Ingrid White, plain and simple, humble and poor.
Cas would tell his family that none of those things mattered and the two of them were going to marry.
They would all embrace her then, ready to love her, not just because of Cas, but because she’d proven her loyalty to them all.
She’d proven she was good enough to be one of them.
Ingrid Loeffler, Ingrid Loeffler, Ingrid Loeffler … She doodled the name dreamily across her mind as she didn’t dare do it on an actual piece of paper that Miles might see.
Once they were together, Cas would realize that he couldn’t become a monk and reject his family’s wealth. He had other people to think of—a woman he loved and maybe even a future family. He would also see that his money could be better used to help people in need.
Maybe he could find something to do at Savannah Sauce that was more fulfilling than CEO. Anyway, once he was established, they would have a wedding, maybe something a little less formal than what Sailor and Jude were planning. It would be simple and sincere, like Cas. It would be full of love …
Later that night, she and Miles walked over to a local seafood place for dinner.
She fell asleep, her head on his lap, while they watched Independence Day, Miles’s selection.
She only roused herself enough to make it upstairs, shed her shorts, and fall into bed in her T-shirt and underwear where she slept deeply and dreamlessly.
Much later she heard voices downstairs. Voices and music, Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us.”
She blearily checked her phone. 12:48 a.m. She pulled on her shorts and tiptoed halfway down the stairs where she saw the entire cabin filled with people and the sliding doors leading to the deck flung open.
Miles was standing under the sailfish holding up a plastic cup and telling a group of people circled around him a story. Shouting it, over the pounding music.
She clocked a few faces: Boney, Mari, Fran, Louella. Sheffield, her neighbor and Dean Remington’s husband, was dancing in the corner with some guy who was not Dean. Sasha, the girl working catering at Sailor’s engagement party, was there, too.
Miles had obviously sent up a flare to all their friends—PARTY AT THE LOEFFLERS’—and after their shifts had ended, everyone had come.
It was too good to miss … a rager at the Loefflers’ beach house, a place none of them would ever get the opportunity to see otherwise. Truthfully, she couldn’t blame him.
Just then Miles looked up and caught her eye. He lifted his beer in her direction. “She’s up!” he crowed.
As a whole entity, the room turned to look at her.
Unable to resist a grin, she waved back, and a cheer went up.
The next song kicked in, “Princess Diana” by Ice Spice, at which point the whole room started collectively screaming and jumping up and down.
And there was Miles, right in the middle of it all, standing still, beaming up at her.
She laughed now; she couldn’t help it. How could she not go down and join the thrashing throng? How could she not drink a White Claw, then another, then another and then do a bunch of shots? She could and she did.
As she danced, she told herself she deserved to celebrate. She had finally made it. She had saved Edie’s house. Saved Edie’s business. And put her own name on the map. Ingrid White was flying in first class now. And everybody wanted to be her friend.
She partied until she was reeling drunk, hoarse from singing, rubbery-legged from nonstop dancing. At one point Boney pulled her close for a sexy slow dance, after which he led her to the bathroom where he locked the door, started kissing her, and put his hand down her pants. She slapped him away.
“Mean girl.” He pouted, then narrowed his eyes. “Are you sleeping with somebody?”
“So what if I am? You don’t care.”
“I mean, no. But also, yes. Kind of. C’mon, Ingrid. I’m not that much of a douche.”
Ingrid felt bad. He wasn’t a douche. She just didn’t have the time to explain everything to him. “I’m just really busy, that’s all.”
He was studying her closely. “Is it the brother? What’s-his-name, the shaggy dude—”
“Cas. And no, I’m not having sex with Cas Loeffler.” Not for lack of trying.
“Well”—Boney bent down and kissed her softly on the fore-head—“when you’re tired of playing with the richies, I guess come find me.”
She felt a twinge of melancholy. She did miss the guy. He might be rough around the edges, but at least he was real flesh and blood, and just said straight out what he wanted and when he wanted it. Boney was easy. And he knew how to please. But he didn’t hold the same allure that Cas did.
Extricating herself from Boney, she went back out where she continued to drink and dance.
At some point, she found herself pulling Sheffield down the stairs that led to the open area under the house, with some vague, drunken sort of plan to explore.
The area was on a concrete slab, enclosed with lattice, with a grimy ping-pong table sitting in the center.
There was a tiki bar, too, and a bunch of plastic bins stacked in a corner.
Sheffield found a golf ball and bounced it over the ping-pong net to Ingrid and she caught it.
“Athletic while drunk. Impressive.” He struck a pose, a look of surprised respect on his face. She laughed and bounced that ball back, hitting him in the face and making her collapse in giggles, and after that, things dimmed to a pleasant land of muffled shadows, then finally to nothingness.